


Sunshine and Starlight

by undercoverwarlock



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Hallowe'en, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Some angst, Truth or Dare, and they were ROOMMATES
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:26:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28268355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/undercoverwarlock/pseuds/undercoverwarlock
Summary: Draco just wanted to get through his eighth year, take his exams, and move on with his life. But then Harry 'Let's Be Friends' Potter happened.In which Draco tries to produce a Patronus, Harry is suspiciously nice, and a game of Truth or Dare tells all.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 9
Kudos: 246





	Sunshine and Starlight

**Author's Note:**

> All characters and such belong to JK Rowling, who is still a TERF. 
> 
> Am I really a Drarry fanfic writer if I don't have at least one Truth or Dare eighth year fic?

The platform was quiet when Draco arrived. Not many families wanted to send their children back to Hogwarts, and some families had no children to send anymore. Those who were there parted for him like the tide. Some stared, some looked away. He understood. He was a leper, the Mark on his arm the ulcerous lesion. Still, he gritted his teeth and set his jaw as he passed. He was still a Malfoy after all.

Once on the train, it wasn’t hard to find an empty compartment. He put his luggage away and sat down, settling into his book. He had wiled away almost a full chapter as the train steadily filled, the growing chatter of students filtering down the hall, when his compartment door opened.

“Malfoy?”

He looked up at the sound of the door, but when he saw who it was, he sighed and closed his book.

“Surely there’s another empty compartment somewhere,” Draco drawled, leaning his head back against the seat as he looked the young man up and down. “Or I’m sure any of your fans would be happy for you to sit with them. Where’s Granger and Weasel? Or better, the Weaselette? They must be saving a seat for you somewhere.”

Potter shook his head with a bemused smile, his green eyes twinkling behind his glasses. Draco’s gut tightened in that all-too familiar way it always did when he saw Potter. The wave of guilt and shame, however, was new. The last time they had seen each other was at Draco’s trial… when Potter had given him back his wand.

“Ron’s not coming,” Potter said as he stepped into the compartment, heaving his own luggage up into the overhead. “And McGonagall made Hermione Head Girl, so she’s off sorting out the prefects with Neville.” He flopped down into the seat next to the window opposite Draco, still with that lopsided smile on his stupid face. Draco scowled at him. The nerve. Hadn’t even asked Draco if he could sit with him. Although, as he looked Potter over – with his thick wild mop of black curls, the silvery scar that split across his coffee-coloured skin, the shadow of stubble on his strong jaw, the jauntily perched glasses on his crooked nose – maybe Draco didn’t mind so much.

“And your girlfriend?” Draco asked pointedly. He raised an eyebrow, waiting for Potter’s reply, but the other boy just pressed his lips into a thin line and looked down at his hands in his lap. Potter slouched back into his seat, stretching his legs out so that his feet framed Draco’s, his dirty sneakers a stark contrast to Draco’s polished Oxfords. Draco tried to keep the blush from rising in his pale cheeks – curse his fair complexion! Why couldn’t Potter sit properly?

“She and I broke up,” Potter mumbled. “Earlier this year. And, er, she got signed to play with the Harpies, so she’s not coming.”

Draco blinked, mulling this over, trying to think if he had heard anything about this in the news – but he and his mother had stopped reading _The Prophet_ and only listened to music on the wireless. He frowned.

“Why on earth did you two break up?” he asked, surprising them both. He couldn’t stop the blush this time, and he looked away, out the window. The train had begun to move out of the station and was picking up speed. “It just… It was your fairy tale ending, wasn’t it? Getting together with your best friend’s sister. The perfect bow-tie ending to your heroic story.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Potter watching him, but more than anything, he could feel the weight of his gaze. Even when Potter glared at him, as he had done so often over the years, his gaze was warm, like summer sunshine. Especially now, when it felt like Draco would get a sun burn from the heat of his green eyes.

“We broke up over you, actually.”

Draco whipped around to gape at him. Potter chuckled. “Well, over your trial, really,” he corrected. “She couldn’t understand why I defended you in court, after – she all but blamed you for Fred’s death, even though it wasn’t your fault – and there were other things,” he finished with a shrug. Draco narrowed his eyes. He suspected Potter was skipping over far more than he let on, but for once, he decided not to push things.

“So it’s just you and Granger.”

“Yep,” said Potter, popping the ‘p’ and crossing his arms as he settled back.

“Still doesn’t explain why you’re sitting with me, of all people.”

Potter shrugged. “You’re right,” he said. “Dean, Luna and the Patil twins are sat just down the corridor, I could go and be with them.”

“So why aren’t you?” Draco demanded, doing his best to ignore the way his stomach twisted and flipped. Potter shrugged again, a mischievous quirk to his lips.

“Because,” he began slowly, “to be honest, I had been hoping this compartment would be empty,” he added with a smirk. “But when I saw you, I thought, why not? I promised myself ages ago that the next time I saw you, I would try to start over, so to speak. So, what do you say?” He sat up, pulling his feet away so he was no longer fencing Draco in, and held out his hand. “Start over?”

Draco hesitated, but only for a moment. Harry’s hand was warm and calloused against his as he shook it. “Alright, then,” said Draco. “Hello. I’m Draco.”

“Harry.” He grinned broadly, and Draco couldn’t help but grin back. “Nice to meet you.”

When Draco pulled back, Harry’s gaze landed on the book beside him. His brow furrowed slightly.

“What are you reading?” he asked. Draco moved to hide the book, but Harry was faster. He snatched it from him with his Seeker-reflexes, his expression teasing and curious as he flipped it over to read the spine. “ _The Fellowship of the Ring_? Seriously?”

“You know it?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “It’s Muggle fiction,” he said, handing the book back with a smirk. “I’m surprised you know it, to be honest.”

Draco shrugged, cradling the book in his lap. “I quite like Tolkien,” he said, a defensive edge to his words. “Pansy, of all people, came across this set while in Paris last winter, from that little shop, Shakespeare and Co. Sent it over as a Christmas and a ‘Congratulations You’re Out of Azkaban’ present.” His lips tilted into a soft smile as his fingers traced a pattern into the clothbound cover. “I read them all in the span of a month. Then I got the rest of his works and read them as well. Mother teased me about it, said she’d never seen me read so much in my life.” He chuckled, but the laugh faded even as it left his mouth. “The stories gave me hope,” he said, mostly to himself, and blushed. He put the book away in his messenger bag, refusing to even glance in Potter’s direction. But then he heard,

“I’ve never read them. Tell me about them.”

Draco looked up with a small frown. Harry’s smile was encouraging, kind even. “Go on, then,” he said, gesturing at Draco. “What happens?”

“You’re serious?” Draco asked, surprised.

“Well, yeah,” Harry replied. He leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms behind his head. “If we’re going to be friends, it only makes sense that I know what you like.”

“Oh, such as I like dick?”

Harry’s eyes widened only briefly. Then he burst out laughing. Draco, who had frozen when the words had slipped involuntarily from his lips, let out a cautious laugh before joining in more whole-heartedly. They giggled, their cheeks red and tears building in the corners of their eyes as they clutched at the stitches in their sides.

“Sweet Salazar, did I really just say that?” Draco wheezed as he tried to collect himself. Harry snickered as he took off his glasses to wipe at his eyes. He cleaned the lenses with the hem of his shirt before hooking them back on with a broad grin.

“Definitely not what I expected, I’ll give you that,” said Harry. “Whoo, man, I have not laughed like that in a long time.”

“Neither have I,” Draco admitted. “Mother doesn’t exactly make for comedic company.”

Harry’s smile grew small as he considered Draco. Draco shifted under the weight of his gaze, rubbing the tears from his cheeks as he glanced out the window at the countryside rolling away beside them.

“So, _Lord of the Rings_?”

By the time the trolley had come and gone, Draco was in full swing on the genius of Tolkien. Harry watched him while snacking on Bertie Bott’s like popcorn at the cinema, a smirk always lingering at the corner of his mouth. Every so often, he would pipe up with a question or exclamation, but for the most part, he seemed content to listen. Draco became increasingly animated as he held forth on the intricate history of Middle Earth, his gestures growing more wild and sweeping as he expounded on his theories about various symbols and metaphors within the text. They were a few hours away from Hogwarts when he started to wind down, finally concluding,

“… which is why you haven’t really fully understood _The Lord of the Rings_ until you’ve read not only the Appendices but the _Silmarillion_ , because what it comes down to in the end is understanding that the War of the Ring is only one thread in this greater tapestry.” Draco sat back with an exhausted sigh and took a swig of butterbeer, only to make a face because it had grown warm. Harry sniggered.

“You would give Hermione a run for her money,” he said. “I haven’t had a lecture like that in ages.”

Draco scowled and threw a Chocolate Frog package at Harry’s head. Harry ducked and laughed, the sound so carefree that it startled a laugh out of Draco as well.

“What about you?” Draco asked. “Do you have any favourite books?”

Harry shrugged, his smile fading. “Not much of a reader, me,” he admitted. “I like films. You know they’re making films out of _Lord of the Rings_ in New Zealand? I read about it in the news this summer.”

“Really?” Draco scrunched his nose up, unsure how to feel about this. “Where even is New Zealand?”

“Near Australia.”

“Huh. So, then, what’s your favourite film? Not that I’d know any, I’ve never seen one.”

Harry grinned. “ _Star Wars_. And trust me, next chance I get, I’m taking you to the cinemas.”

“Is that a promise?” Draco asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Definitely.”

And gods above, if Draco’s heart didn’t melt at the glowing radiance of Harry’s grin, then he was a Flobberworm.

-

“You have to be joking.”

“The straws don’t lie.” Harry was obviously trying to keep a straight face. He was right, though. There was his straw next to Draco’s, a perfect match. Draco tossed his into the fire and strode off towards the dormitory tower.

Since there had been so few students returning, Headmistress McGonagall in her infinite wisdom had decided to arrange them based on year rather than House, which was how the seventh and eighth years were relocated to Gryffindor Tower. Draco suspected favouritism. They had been left to their own devices as to how to divide the rooms amongst themselves, with Hermione in charge of organising the girls and Neville of the boys. There were seven rooms and eighteen boys – eight seventh years and ten eighth years. Draco couldn’t help but notice that he was the only Slytherin boy – Daphne and Astoria Greengrass had also returned, but they couldn’t help him in this particular situation. The seventh years had agreed to splitting the first two rooms between them, after almost an hour was spent trying to do the maths, something none of them quite understood. That just left the eighth years and five rooms.

It was Neville’s bright idea to draw straws. So one by one, they drew a straw from the bundle Neville conjured, and went about finding their pair. Which was how Draco found himself matching up with Harry ‘Let’s Be Friends’ Potter.

Draco stormed into their room, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides, heart pounding, partially from climbing seven flights of stairs. Of course, not only had he been matched with Potter, but they had both drawn the short straw, which meant they got the top room. Draco glared at the red curtained four posters, at the tall eaves above, at their luggage somehow already neatly stacked in the middle of the room. He strode over and kicked at Harry’s chest (a few times).

He heard the footsteps behind him but chose to ignore them, aiming another set of well-placed kicks at the chest.

“Please stop beating up my luggage.”

Draco gave it one last kick for good measure. Then he turned on his heel, levelling an accusatory finger at the other man.

“You planned this, didn’t you?” Draco seethed. “You never really wanted to be my friend, you just want to keep an eye on me, to spy on me!”

Harry rolled his eyes, shoving his hands into his trouser pockets. “And why would I do that?” he asked. “Have something to hide, do you?”

“No!” Draco spluttered. “But you obviously think I do! You all do!”

Harry sighed. “Let me get this straight,” he said as he walked slowly over to Draco with a hint of his old school-boy swagger. “You think I somehow engineered it so that I would spend eight hours alone on the train with you?” Draco tried to take a step back, but ran into the luggage, the edge of which dug into the back of his thighs. “That not only did I convince McGonagall to put the seventh and eighth years in Gryffindor Tower,” Harry continued, coming closer and closer, “but that Neville would set it up so that we would both choose the short matches and get paired together?” He stopped inches away from Draco, a dangerous smile spreading across his face as he looked up at Draco with a mischievous glint in his summer-coloured eyes. Draco frowned and tried to ignore the twist of arousal that had snuck its way into his self-righteous anger, even as Harry trapped him against the luggage. “Are you really that suspicious of my intentions, _Draco_?”

Draco swallowed. He hated the shiver that ran down his spine at the sound of his name on Harry’s tongue. This close, he could smell the other boy, pepper and spice.

“Obviously,” he sneered. It didn’t come out sounding as confident as he had planned and he cursed his voice for betraying him. Harry raised an eyebrow, so Draco continued, “It only make sense, doesn’t it? You have to….” He paused to lick his dry lips. Harry’s gaze flickered from Draco’s eyes to his mouth and back again. Circe, if he had been anyone else, Draco would have given in. As it was, he was not about to be attracted to Harry bloody Potter. “You have to keep an eye on the ex-Death Eater,” he spat at last.

Harry shrugged. Fucking shrugged.

“Maybe you’re right,” he said nonchalantly, “but truth be told, I wouldn’t be so sure of yourself. You were a pretty lousy Death Eater.” Draco glared at him, and he chuckled, the sound low and deep in his chest so that Draco swore he felt the rumble of it more than heard it. “Besides,” Harry continued, drawing even closer, so close that Draco could see flecks of gold and amber in those green eyes, “I have other ways of keeping an eye on you.”

Draco’s chest rose and fell with each shallow breath as he stood toe to toe with Harry. If he just leaned forward an inch – Harry seemed to read his mind and grinned crookedly.

“You’re standing in front of my luggage,” he murmured.

Draco’s shoulders slumped as he sidestepped away from Harry, his head spinning. Harry turned away from him, but Draco could have sworn he was holding back a laugh.

“Which bed you want?” Harry asked, levitating his luggage into the air. “Take your pick, there are plenty.”

Draco chose one of the beds at random, flicking his wand so that his luggage flew over to it. Harry picked the bed exactly opposite with a smirk. The next day after class, they came back to find all the beds but their chosen two had vanished. That’s when it set in for Draco – it was really happening. He was rooming with Harry Potter.

-

September passed without much incident. The other eighth years were perfectly happy to accept Draco into their fold, although Hermione and Neville had their reservations. They weren’t openly hostile, but Draco felt their glares following him, especially if he got too close to Harry. So he kept his nose down and tried to focus on his school work. That was what he was here for, after all.

The first night he’d woken up from a nightmare, Harry was at his bedside, hair rumpled from sleep and his hands hovering over Draco’s shoulders, as if unsure if he could touch. Draco, embarrassed and blushing, had tried to wave him off. But Harry had only given him a sympathetic look and put one hesitant hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay,” he had said, his voice soft and gentle and so unlike anything Draco had ever heard from him. “I get them, too.”

Draco only believed him a few nights later when he himself woke to Harry’s screams. He rushed over to Harry’s bed, and found himself in almost the exact same position. He didn’t hesitate, though. He gripped Harry’s shoulders, calling his name until Harry woke up with a gasp. It took a moment for recognition to dawn in Harry’s eyes, and he sat up, Draco’s hands still on his shoulders.

“Draco?” he whispered, his voice thick with sleep. Draco immediately pulled back as if he’d been burned. Harry reached over to the bedside table and hooked his glasses on, blinking owlishly up at Draco. Merlin, he looked so young – “I’m sorry, I – shit, how bad was it?”

Draco folded his hands in his lap. “I’m surprised you didn’t wake the whole castle,” he said, aiming for teasing but coming up short. Harry grimaced and fell back against the pillows, one hand pushing into his curls.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured again. “I haven’t had one that bad in a few weeks.”

Draco’s gut twisted. “Do-Do you want to talk about it?” he asked. Harry shook his head, his eyes already closing in exhaustion. He unhooked his glasses and tried to set them on the bedside table but missed. Draco caught them just in time before they fell and placed them delicately on the table. Harry watched him with one eye and raised his eyebrows. Draco blushed. Harry only closed his eyes with a sigh.

“I’m sorry for waking you,” he mumbled, already drifting off again.

“Don’t worry about it,” Draco whispered, but it was no use. Harry was asleep. Draco sat there for a moment longer, transfixed. Then he got up and went back to bed.

-

About halfway through October, Professor Ashwagandha, a portly man with a thick moustache and a reedy voice, assigned them a roll of parchment on the Patronus charm. Draco had groaned and procrastinated on writing anything, which was how Harry found him at midnight on Sunday, trying over and over and failing to produce a Patronus.

“What are you doing?”

Draco looked over at Harry standing in the stairwell. He was barefoot, his pyjama bottoms slung low around his hips, and wearing a ratty old Chudley Cannons T-shirt he must have gotten from Weasley. Draco grumbled out a ‘nothing’, lowering his arm to hide his wand. Harry frowned and watched him throw himself down onto the over-stuffed couch, glaring at the fire crackling in the grate. Draco didn’t hear him come over. But then there he was, sitting next to Draco with one leg folded beneath him and one arm braced against the back of the couch, his head in his hand.

“You know, it’s okay if you can’t produce a Patronus the first few times,” Harry said, his words comforting. Draco scowled.

“You’re one to talk,” he snapped. “You can produce a corporeal Patronus. I’ve been trying for years and I can’t even get a wisp of smoke!”

Harry pressed his lips into a thin line. “Oh,” he said at last. Draco scoffed, crossing his arms over his narrow chest. For a moment, they were quiet, listening to the dying fire. Then – “You know,” Harry said, “I’m sure it has nothing to do with your casting. The thing with the Patronus charm is that, even if your technique is perfect, it won’t work if the feeling isn’t right. Even Hermione has a hard time with it.”

“You mean the memory, right?”

Harry shook his head. “Not necessarily,” he said. “Memories don’t always work. It can be a thought, a hope, a dream, anything. It just has to fill you with light, you know?” He pulled his own wand out and murmured the incantation almost lazily. A silver stag burst out of his wand, coming to stand expectantly on the hearth rug. Harry smiled at it, the corners of his eyes wrinkling affectionately, before waving his wand again and dispelling the stag into a misty haze.

“So what did you think about just then?” Draco asked, a confused frown etched into the corners of his mouth. Harry didn’t look at him as he put his wand back into the pocket of his pyjama bottoms.

“Sometimes it’s Ron and Hermione,” he said. “Or Sirius, or Lupin. Sometimes, I think of my parents – I’m not sure if it’s a memory or a dream, but it’s something.”

“And just now?”

Harry smiled to himself. He got to his feet with a stretch. “Same as always,” he said, a strange look on his fire-lit face. “I thought of someone I love.”

-

The next weekend, having secured an extension on the essay from Professor Ashwagandha, Draco found himself back in the empty common room in the middle of the night. He thought about what Harry had said. He took a deep breath, let it out in a long sigh. He had tried everything else – moments from his childhood, his mother’s smile, flying – but nothing worked, his memories always tainted with horror – the Manor floor covered in blood, the broken look in his mother’s eyes, Fiend Fyre choking his lungs. So he closed his eyes. Took another deep, steadying breath. Thought of what made himself feel full of light, love, happiness, whatever you want to call it. And there, in the quiet of his mind, he saw it – a devilish smile, calloused hands, and summer-coloured eyes.

 _Expecto Patronum_.

When he opened his eyes, he let out a sharp bark of laughter and immediately covered his mouth to muffle the sound. He had done it. Almost shaking with giddiness, he reached out a hand towards his star-lit Patronus.

“A bloody stag. Of course,” he muttered to himself. The stag nuzzled his hand. “Of course.”

There was a gasp behind him. Draco turned, but there was no one there. When he turned back, the stag was gone.

-

Harry was quiet that week. He spent more time on the Quidditch pitch training than usual, would have his head buried in his text books whenever Draco saw him in the common room, and was always leaving the Great Hall when Draco came down for meals. After building such a tentative camaraderie that first month and a half, Draco became increasingly suspicious that Potter was up to something, and he was determined to figure out what. In the back of his mind, he couldn’t help but remember hearing that noise the night he had produced a Patronus, couldn’t shake the thought that maybe, just maybe, Potter had seen. His stomach twisted into a Gordian knot at the thought, and after that, he started avoiding Potter too.

Then, Hermione and Neville announced that they were hosting a party that Saturday in the common room.

“Since Hallowe’en is on a Tuesday this year,” Hermione explained, her frizzy curls escaping from her bun, “the prefects thought that it would be fun for each Year Group to have a party in their common room to help build inter-House unity!”

“Which means that we’ll be having a party just for the seventh and eighth years this Saturday, starting at eight p.m.,” added Neville. He bounced on the balls of his feet and nervously rubbed his hands together as an excited murmur spread throughout the common room. Draco, who had been leaning against the wall near the stairwell, looked over to where Potter sat in the corner by one of the narrow windows. He frowned – Potter wasn’t even paying attention. Instead, he just stared out at the rain beating against the glass, his chin in his hand. Neville and Hermione were fielding questions – would it be fancy dress, could they bring friends from other years, etc. – and didn’t seem to notice their despondent celebrity. Draco pushed off the wall, ignoring Astoria’s attempt to draw him into a conversation about matching Hallowe’en costumes, and edged around the room towards Potter.

“You don’t seem very excited about the party,” Draco pointed out in his old drawl as he perched on the windowsill next to Potter. The other boy jumped, but relaxed when he saw Draco, giving him a quiet smile before turning back to the window.

“Yeah,” Potter mumbled. “It should be fun.”

“You didn’t hear what I said, did you.”

Potter sighed and pulled his knees up into his chest. “Sorry,” he said, his voice muffled by the glass. “Got a lot on my mind.”

“Right.” Draco frowned. He crossed his arms, his fingers tapping against his elbow as he narrowed his eyes at this distant Potter. Then he ducked his head, biting his lip as he inspected a hangnail on his thumb. “You want to talk about it?” he asked in as off-handed a manner as he could. In the corner of his eye, he could have sworn he saw Harry smile, but when he turned his head, Potter was still staring blank-faced out the window.

“Maybe later,” Potter whispered. Draco resisted the urge to pout.

“Right,” he repeated. “Okay. Well. I’ll see you upstairs, then.”

Potter nodded. Draco waited a moment longer, then stood up and made his way up to their room, ignoring the Greengrass girls’ attempts to get his attention. He didn’t want to try and coordinate outfits with them at the moment – he had seen the way Astoria looked at him, and he didn’t think he could bear it tonight. One day, he promised, he would tell her. But not tonight.

Potter didn’t go to bed until well past midnight. Draco listened to him get ready in their cramped en-suite as he pretended to sleep. Part of him voted to go and confront him, get the truth, once and for all. The rest of him said to wait, to bide his time. The moment would come soon enough.

-

The night of the party came, and the common room was buzzing with excitement. Paper streamers had been hung up, jack lanterns were suspended above their heads, and an assortment of food and drinks had been brought up earlier by the house elves, not to mention the Firewhiskey snuck in by some of the older students. The wireless blasted The Weird Sisters, and some of the Muggleborns were teaching the others Muggle party games. Draco managed to be left alone for the most part, sipping his glass of pumpkin juice spiked with the contraband Firewhiskey while he watched the party from the same windowsill Potter had haunted earlier that week.

Potter, meanwhile, turned up late to the party, stumbling right into a gaggle of seventh-year girls who had camped out at the bottom of the stairwell and had obviously had a little too much to drink. He looked like he hadn’t slept all week – there were dark, bruise-coloured shadows under his eyes, and he kept tugging the cuffs of his jumper over his hands distractedly, as if by hiding parts of himself he could become invisible. Draco watched him like a Healer keeping an eye on a troublesome patient.

“Sod it,” he muttered to himself, setting his glass down on the windowsill and getting up to go confront Harry, there and then. He hadn’t taken two steps towards the other man, however, when Astoria’s hand shot out, seemingly from nowhere, and pulled him down to the floor where a group of them had begun playing Truth and Dare. Draco was about to make his excuses when he saw Hermione do the same to Potter. He sighed and settled in beside the younger girl, his gaze always flicking over to the other pair. Hermione looked concerned, her eyebrows knitted together and one hand on Potter’s shoulder as they whispered together for a moment. Draco strained to catch even a word of their conversation, but it was useless over the din of the party.

“Alright, alright,” announced Padma, getting the group’s attention. “Now that we have a couple new members, does everyone know how to play?”

“What are we playing again?” asked a seventh-year boy with a pinched face like a rat.

“Truth or Dare,” said Padma. “It’s easy enough.” She explained the rules quickly. “Got it? Good. Here, I’ll go first. Luna, truth or dare?”

Luna answered ‘truth’, which made Padma roll her eyes. Evidently she had been hoping for a ‘dare’, if only to show how the game was played. She asked Luna an easy question – ‘have you ever been caught sleepwalking?’ – to which Luna smiled dreamily and replied, ‘not yet.’ Then it was Luna’s turn, and the game rolled on. Draco didn’t pay much attention. A younger him would have loved to get the dirt on some of his classmates, the perfect material to tease and bully them with. Now, he couldn’t care less. He kept looking over at Potter, who was staring at a fixed spot next to his foot, a shadow haunting his expression. Then, Hannah Abbott called on Potter.

“Truth or dare?”

Potter blinked – he apparently hadn’t been paying much attention either. He looked up from his examination of the floor and said, “Er, dare?”

Always the Gryffindor. Or maybe, Draco wondered as he narrowed his eyes at the other boy, he was hiding a truth. Either way, Hannah didn’t seem to care.

“I dare you… to kiss the next person who says your name.”

They all exchanged anticipatory looks with each other. The girls seemed to all be debating who would say Potter’s name first, while the boys were doing the mental calculations of how they could go the rest of the night without saying his name, because of course, no homo. Draco saw Potter’s eyes flick over to him and away again so quickly, he might have been mistaken. His heart stuttered in his chest, and his stomach rolled so violently he thought in a moment of panic that he might vomit. Like hell was he going to see any of these fawning fan girls kiss Potter. He made to stand up, to make his excuses, to escape to the quiet of their dorm, when Potter caught his eye and, for the first time in a week, held it.

“Alright then,” said Potter. “Draco. Truth or dare?”

Draco swore silently. He sat back down, considering his options as he tried to steady his sprinting pulse. Did he ask for the truth, and risk exposing himself in front of everyone, or go for the dare and pray that Potter had mercy on him? He let out a short huff. Right. Only one thing to do. He raised his chin a little in challenge. “Your choice, _Harry_.”

The group gasped. They all turned to Harry, expecting him to grimace or laugh or, better yet, punch Draco. But Harry was smiling that dangerous smile, and the way his teeth bit slightly into his lower lip made Draco want to whimper. He was still a Malfoy, though, and this was Harry. So Draco only smirked back in answer. Harry got up and crossed the circle to Draco. He offered his hand, an excited glint in his eyes as he said, “I dare you to come with me, then.”

Draco took his hand, and Harry pulled him to his feet. Draco knew he was blushing, could feel his cheeks and ears burning, but he didn’t care. He could hear the others whispering and giggling, could hear Astoria calling his name, but it didn’t matter. Harry’s hand was warm in his, and Harry was pulling him towards the stairs up to the dorms, and all he could see was Harry, Harry, Harry. Someone wolf-whistled behind them – Draco had a sneaking suspicion it was Luna.

They climbed the stairs to their room in silence. Harry didn’t let go of Draco’s hand. Draco had just closed the door behind him when Harry crowded him up against it, his hands braced against the wood on either side of Draco’s waist, pinning him there. Draco let out a shuddering gasp, his heart in his throat. In the moonlight, Harry’s face was cast almost in shadow, the light gleaming on his glasses. Draco wanted to touch, to bury his hands in those rich black curls, to pull him closer, but he held his hands at his sides, his nails biting into his palms, still unsure. Harry leaned in, his nose brushing along Draco’s jaw, his breath warm against Draco’s trembling skin.

“Do you want this?” Harry murmured, his lips brushing the sensitive spot just below Draco’s ear. Draco’s knees shook as he nodded, unable to form words. “Because if you don’t, we don’t have to – ”

“Harry.” Draco’s hand came up to cradle Harry’s jaw, to bring them eye to eye. Harry’s pupils were blown so wide they swallowed almost all trace of green, like a new moon on a starry night. “I already said yes.”

Harry didn’t need any more encouragement after that. He leaned in for a chaste kiss, but Draco was having none of it. The hand holding Harry’s jaw slipped into his hair, thick and coarse between his fingers, while his other hand slipped around to press against his low back, pulling Harry flush against him. Harry gasped against Draco’s mouth. Draco eagerly licked at his lower lip, a question answered by Harry’s moan. Then it was Harry licking into Draco’s mouth, his hands roving over Draco’s body, pulling at Draco’s silky fine hair, palming along his side, desperately searching for more. Their kiss wasn’t just hungry, it was starving, as if they had never eaten before that night only to be given a feast.

Only when they needed to breathe did they pull apart, Harry to mouth along the column of Draco’s neck, Draco to lean his head back against the door with a whispered, “Fuck.” Harry sucked a love bite into the skin just above his collar, and Draco hissed and squirmed beneath him, his hips inadvertently rolling up into Harry’s, making them both moan. Then Harry was scrambling to undo the buttons on Draco’s shirt, and Draco tried to pull Harry’s jumper off, their arms getting tangled and giggling at their own eagerness. Harry, jumper gone, held Draco’s head in his hands and pulled him in, smiling against his lips as Draco’s hands explored warm skin, the curve of his ribcage, the sharp wings of his shoulder blades. He pushed Draco’s shirt from his shoulders, tossing it to the side. Draco frowned.

“Ah, no, it’s going to wrinkle,” he protested. But then Harry’s fingers brushed over an exposed nipple, and all thoughts of wrinkles disappeared from Draco’s mind.

They took their time, exploring each other, memorising the way one arched if he did this, the way the skin blushed if the other did that. “Gorgeous,” Harry murmured as he pressed open-mouthed kisses to Draco’s shoulder, as Draco arched into him when he gripped his arse with one hand. “Beautiful. Amazing. God, I’ve wanted you for so long.”

Draco tried to bite back the whine building in his throat. “So why,” he managed to gasp, while Harry made his way down his chest, “were you so, _ah_ , distant? This whole week, _ungh_ , I barely saw you.”

Harry sighed, his breath puffing against Draco’s pebbled nipple, making him squirm even more. “I got a letter from Ginny last weekend,” he murmured. He pulled away, the shadow returning to his lust-wide eyes. Draco frowned, thoroughly disapproving of this intruder into their…whatever this was. Harry’s hands skimmed up Draco’s back as he bit his kiss-bruised lips. “She wants to get back together.”

Draco pushed Harry away. Harry stumbled backwards, startled. “So what’s this, then?” Draco demanded, anger flaring hot in his chest. “Just some last-ditch hook up before you go running back to her?”

“What? No!”

“You sure? Because I swear, I refuse to be anyone’s dirty secret, especially after your little show downstairs.”

“Show? What are you – ?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about!” Draco shouted. “Your little dare! What, you want to have a laugh, take the piss with your friends about it later? Is that all this was?”

“Draco, please – ”

“Because if you want a shag just so you can go back to your heterosexual life, I swear – ”

“Draco.” Harry stepped forward, his hands cradling Draco’s face as he pulled him in, pressed his lips to his, hard and insistent. “I want this,” he whispered against Draco’s mouth. “I want _you_.”

“And Ginny Weasley?” Draco demanded, trying to pull away. “You want her too?”

Harry shook his head, his eyes wild, his grip tightening, holding Draco close. “No,” he assured him, “no, I promise, I just want you. Only you. Please, just listen to me.”

“How can I believe you?” Draco hissed. Tears began to spill, hot and fast, down his cheeks. He covered Harry’s hands with his, peeling them away from the sides of Draco’s head as he stepped back. Harry’s eyes were filling with tears now, sparkled mirrors. “How? _How_?”

“Because I told her I’m in love with you!”

Draco froze. Harry’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, one hand scrubbing through his hair as he reeled backwards from his own declaration. Draco opened his mouth, closed it again.

“Oh,” he breathed. Harry rolled back on his heels, biting his lip as he nodded.

“Yeah,” he whispered. He lowered his hand, shoved both into the pockets of his trousers as he stared at his shoes. “You don’t – I understand if you don’t, I just – I’ve spent all week, trying to – I saw your Patronus, and I thought, maybe – ”

“Wait. You saw? I knew it was you! I knew I heard something that night!” Draco’s grin at the realisation crumpled almost immediately, uncertain. “Are you just saying that because you saw my Patronus? Because you don’t want to hurt my feelings or – ”

“Christ on a cracker, Draco!” Harry threw his hands into the air with a harsh laugh. “Just believe me, won’t you? I love you. Not Ginny. I’m bisexual, and I love you. And I’m not just saying that because I’m taking the piss. I.” He came up, one hand running up Draco’s neck. “Love.” He pressed two fingers under Draco’s chin, made him look him in the eye. “You.”

It all came crashing down on Draco then. Harry barely had time to gasp before Draco pulled him in for a messy kiss. The kiss grew sweet, edged though it was with desperation. Harry scraped his fingernails lightly down Draco’s back, and Draco bit at Harry’s ear, his neck, his shoulder. With each love bite, he thought, _mine_ , _mine_ , _mine_. As Harry’s fingers tangled in his hair and he laved at one of Harry’s dark nipples, he thought, _his_ , _his_ , _his_. And when Harry fell to his knees in front of him, looked up at him with those summer sunshine eyes, and asked if he could – all Draco could whisper was _yes_ , _yes_ , _yes._

They slept in the same bed that night, and for almost every night after.


End file.
